


Masked

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff and awkwardness, Mistaken Identity, Vigilante AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 17:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: Vigilante AU with mistaken identity, awkward flirting, and butt kicking.





	Masked

He was oblivious. Oh, not to his work. Standing on the other side of the slab, his nose a hair’s breadth away from Mrs Haversham’s cold lips. He examined her pale features with his sharp eyes.

No, he was oblivious to her. 

“Any ideas?” She asked cheerily. 

He grunted. “Poison. Cyanide. Injected in her nightly glass of brandy, no doubt. By the butler.”

Molly giggled. “The butler did it?”

Straightening, Sherlock stared at her. Her mirth faded and she blushed, realising just how inappropriate her joke had been.

“Sorry,” she demurred and busied herself gathering her instruments to finish the autopsy and sew up the poor woman’s abdomen. Must she always make a fool of herself in front of him? He must believe her to be an absolute ninny.

If only he knew.

In her embarrassment, she missed the rolling table behind her and bumped into it, sending an array of slides to the floor.

Quick as a wink, she spun around and caught them all in one hand, stacking them in a perfect tower.

Silence descended in the lab and she looked over at Sherlock, who was staring at her with a curious look on his face.

Forcing a laugh, she smiled and set the slides down. “Should probably watch where I’m going.”

He didn’t reply and when she looked back up, the doors were swinging shut behind him.

“Bye,” she muttered glumly and resumed her work. Would he ever truly see her?

oOo

He crouched on the edge of the rooftop, the lights of London glimmering below. His hair, slicked back but for one curl that escaped over his forehead, flickered in the wind, the only movement that gave away his position. The black trousers blended into the shadows, the leather of his black knee boots shimmered in the light. His shirt, deep crimson, hugged his torso and the leather straps that crossed around him from shoulder to waist, wrapping once around his left thigh, held his sword in easy reach. Mycroft had called his outfit ridiculous when he had caught him in it, but Sherlock paid him no mind and had simply readjusted the black mask that covered his face and disappeared.

Tonight, though, he was in no rush to leave his perch. Unless a situation arose he could not ignore. Fortunately for him, he only had to wait a few minutes before a shadow crossed the rooftop two buildings away. Grinning, he leapt, clearing the seven floor drop in one go and rolling onto the next rooftop.

Using his momentum, he sprinted quietly after the shadow. Though smaller and more lithe than him, he had power, longer strides, and the element of surprise on his side and soon overtook his quarry.

In one leap, he jumped over them and landed in their path, in a crouched position. 

The Shadow, as he had come to name her, stumbled to a halt. She looked around for an escape, but he had planned this well and easily blocked her way.

“Hello again,” he spoke in a rumbling baritone, gruffer than his natural tone.

With a sigh of annoyance, she crossed her arms and glowered at him behind her mask, the black fabric obscuring most of her face. “What do you want?” Oh, tetchy and annoyed. Just as usual.

He swaggered closer and preened at the appreciative glance she shot him before she was glowering once more. He, in turn, took a moment to appreciate her own form. Clad in a black catsuit, she was petite and slim, but strong, as she had proven over and over. Her dark hair was pulled back in a long braid and swayed as she shifted.

Affecting an air of nonchalance, he crossed his arms and leaned against the building’s outcropping. Only to miss it by half a meter and stumble, much to the Shadow’s amusement. Why was he always making a fool of himself in front of her?

Clearing his throat, he recovered himself and grinned at her. “What’s a nice girl like you doing on a rooftop at this time of night?”

She stared at him. “Seriously? That’s the line you’re going to use?”

He shrugged one shoulder and smirked. “Depends. Did it work?”

“No.”

Oh. His smiled dropped.

“Sorry, but I only have room in my life for one over-bearing, rude, tall and dark drink of water and it’s not you, babe.” She pulled no punches, that was for sure. But she said it softly, as though she knew what it was like to be rejected.

He wondered what idiot would turn down the enchanting enigma before him. Brilliant, beautiful, witty, a fighter who dove headfirst into danger to save lives. She was perfect. 

Suddenly her eyes darted to the side and her smile reappeared. With a wink, she purred, “See you around.”

Before he could blink, she had darted away and taken a flying leap from the rooftop.

Sherlock ran after her and leaned over the edge, his eyes wide. She had found the one escape he had missed and was now hurtling towards the ground on a narrow rain pipe. She jumped the last few metres and rolled skillfully, turning her momentum into a sprint.

Sherlock watched as she disappeared into the night. Even if the pipe could hold his weight, he would not be able to catch her. This was her domain, she knew every nook and cranny, and was already more than likely out of his reach.

In more ways than one.


End file.
